


A Study in Bubbles

by cardy221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Caring John, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardy221b/pseuds/cardy221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock returns filthy from a midnight experiment, John decides this just won't do, and treats him to a bit of bathtime pampering.</p>
<p>Fluff and smut ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work EVER, so I hope you like it!! There's more where this came from.

John sat, tea in hand, relaxing with the morning paper in his usual chair. Golden shafts of sunlight streamed in through the window, and he hummed one of the new violin concertos that Sherlock had been composing the previous weekend as he flipped through the pages. What a lovely morning he mused to himself, sipping at his tea. Usually Sherlock was in the kitchen, bustling about with whatever experiment he had cooked up the previous night, or snoring loudly while he slumbered in his bedroom. Sherlock had no idea of the cacoffiny he created while sleeping, and John always chuckled at this notion. But this morning, all was peaceful in 221 B (with the exception of the London traffic).

Just as he was beginning to wonder where his troublesome boyfriend could’ve gone, he heard the door fly open behind him. There standing in the doorway with harpoon in hand, was a very bloody Sherlock Holmes. John’s initial reaction was to be taken aback, but after living with the man for the duration he had his gruesome escapades had become routine.

“Really Sherlock, with the harpoon again?” John questioned exasperatedly.

“What? I was---”

“Bored. Yes, I know, I know,” John sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well would you rather I had stayed home and shot the wall?” Sherlock quipped, resting the weapon against the doorframe. “I thought it more considerate to occupy myself elsewhere while you were asleep.”

John pursed his lips, gazing up affectionately at the filthy man before him. Blood was streaked across his forehead where he had attempted to wipe it in vain. It was smattered all across the luxuriously high cheekbones, and his hair was matted in the places where the blood had dried. Folding his paper and setting it aside, John stood.

“Oh, poor pet, look at how filthy you are. It’s a shame, I did quite like that shirt on you,” he stated, walking slowly over to his boyfriend and caressing his arm softly.

Sherlock regarded the hand warily, his haughty disposition still toughening his exterior as it often did after a case or experiment. John continued to gaze up at the taller man, and watched Sherlock’s eyes soften as they landed on him. Sherlock started to lean in for a kiss, but John stopped him with a finger.

“Not until we get you cleaned up. I’ll draw the bath, you work at getting the stains out of the shirt. There’s some ammonia in the cupboard,” John said, starting off towards the bathroom. “Oh and do actually try to get the stains out? I really do like that shirt.”

Sherlock smirked as he watched the older man walk to the bathroom, admiring the view. Unbuttoning his shirt, he heard the water starting into the bath and John rustling around in the cupboard under the sink for the bubbles. Sherlock silently hoped he used the lavender scented one, as it got him...relaxed, for later activities. He let his mind run with the thought a bit as he worked to get the stains out.

Before long, the stains were nearly gone and the sound of the bathwater was muffled by the mountain of bubbles that had surely formed by then.

“Bath’s ready love,” John announced, peeking his head around the bathroom door and smiling warmly at his lover. Sherlock returned the smile and nodded, laying out the shirt to dry. He kicked off his shoes and socks, and started towards the bathroom.

Opening the door and walking in, Sherlock inhaled deeply as the warm scent of lavender entered his nose. The comforting aroma was welcome after enduring the pungent smell of blood. He removed his trousers, and before he could make a move to remove his pants John was behind him, sliding them off of his hips and down his legs. Sighing with contentment, Sherlock eased himself into the warm caress of the water. 

John kneeled next to the claw-foot tub, dipping their softest flannel into the bath before smiling and beginning to gingerly clean the blood from Sherlock’s face. With a small smile playing on his plush lips Sherlock sighed again, and John chuckled softly. 

Once Sherlock’s face was clean of blood, John moved to his hands, gently picking up his long fingers one by one and massaging them in the cloth. Once it was clean, John brought the hand to his face and pressed his lips into the soft skin and then moved onto the other one.

“Shall we do your hair, darling?” John purred, setting aside the flannel and picking up the pitcher they kept in the cupboard for Sherlock’s special baths. Sherlock nodded, and John picked up Sherlock’s special shampoo and positioned himself over the younger man’s head. Stooping to fill the pitcher, John caressed Sherlock’s face as he tipped his head back and allowed John to pour the warm water over his dark curls. It took a couple pitchers of water to penetrate his thick mane, but when it was thoroughly dampened John emptied a considerable amount of shampoo into his hand and began to work it into the raven locks.

Sherlock moaned softly and sighed once more as John massaged his head in slow circles, humming the concerto from earlier once again. Soon Sherlock’s deep baritone voice joined John’s smooth tenor, creating a beautiful flowing harmony that sent chills down John’s spine. 

The concerto finished, and John rinsed the soap off of his hands before stealing a kiss from Sherlock, tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. As John reached to get the conditioner, Sherlock’s head was still tipped back and he gazed up at John longingly. He almost gave in to the pale opal eyes that peered back at him, but he decided he would make Sherlock wait, making sure he was ready for later.

Sherlock recognized the restrained look on his partner’s face and rolled his eyes playfully, smirking and sitting back against the tub to allow John easier access. John lathered his hands and began running his fingers through the rippling ebony waterfall of hair that was before him. He could do this all day and wished he could, but Sherlock didn’t like to care for himself during cases...or much at all, for that matter. John had no idea how Sherlock got on before he came around, but he chose not to think about it too much. The idea of Sherlock’s unintended (or perhaps intended) self neglect saddened him. But he was here now, and Sherlock was in much better health than when they’d first met. 

“John,” Sherlock said softly, calling John back out of his own head. “I think my hair is about drowning in conditioner by now.”

John chuckled. “Sorry love. Do me a favor and fill the pitcher?” he said, handing it to Sherlock who filled it without protest. It was rare that anyone, even John, could get Sherlock to do something for them, but at times like this when his guard was down he could be very cooperative. But only for John, and only when they were alone like this.

While John was lost thinking, Sherlock had washed himself nearly the rest of the way without John noticing. Although John loved doing it, bathing Sherlock was a lot of work and Sherlock tried to take off some of the load where he could get away with it. 

Wordlessly, he handed the foamy flannel to John so he could wash his back. Sherlock knew that his hair and his back were John’s two favorite things on him to clean, so he always made sure to save them for him. John loved smoothing the slick flannel across the milky white texture of Sherlock’s skin, and feeling the elegant slope of Sherlock’s back beneath his fingers. John took his time, admiring the sight of Sherlock’s lean muscles flexing as he breathed slowly, relishing every stroke of the flannel across his spine.

When John was satisfied, he rinsed and wrung out the flannel as Sherlock drained the tub. He stood outside the porcelain basin and allowed John to towel him off, ruffling his hair with it affectionately. He handed Sherlock the towel, kissing him softly before moving to the door.

“Sherlock?” he said, turning to his flatteringly nude companion.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t bother putting your clothes on. Just the dressing gown will be fine,” John instructed, a seductive edge leaking into the caring overtone he’d been so carefully maintaining. Sherlock smiled deviously, and John winked before closing the door and retreating to the bedroom. God, will this be good.


	2. Chapter 2

John started stripping down to his pants (the bright red ones that Sherlock cherished so) as he listened to his mate finish toweling off and fishing out the dressing gown. Closing his eyes, he slid under the covers of their bed and enjoyed listening to Sherlock humming what was probably a continuation of his concerto. The man was amazing, in every way shape and form, but John especially loved his musical talent. It never bothered him when Sherlock would be up in the early hours of the morning composing, or just playing old sheet music. He always roused himself enough to listen for a few minutes, and eventually be carried back into dreamland on the soft serenade of Sherlock’s violin.

Eventually John heard the bathroom door open and the soft padding of Sherlock’s bare feet on the wood floor. He opened his eyes and there his man stood, smiling down at him peacefully.

“Lay down with me for a bit. I missed you coming to bed last night,” John said, patting the bed softly.

“Well, you know how I get when I’m wrapped up in an experiment,” Sherlock said apologetically, his downcast eyes saying his remorse for him.

“It’s okay love. We have all of today to make up for it,” John said, smiling reassuringly and opening the covers for his lover. Sherlock smiled, undoing the belt on his dressing gown and casting it aside. He slid under the covers, curling up into the warm bare skin of his boyfriend. John kissed his bare shoulder and slinked his arm around him, rubbing his thumb across the smooth pale texture of Sherlock’s skin.

“I love how soft you are after a bath,” John whispered, burying his nose in Sherlock’s hair and kissing his head. Sherlock chuckled, pressing in closer John. With his free hand, John reached up and threaded a finger through one of Sherlock’s raven curls, twirling it in his fingers. They laid like that for a while, just enjoying the warm comfort of each other’s bodies and drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Are you tired, love?” John asked, beginning to pepper soft kisses across Sherlock’s shoulder and neck. Sherlock groaned, and turned his head to his partner.

“No, are you?” He asked, voice thick with mixed fatigue and arousal. John knew he must be exhausted, but played into it anyway.

“Not really, no. I actually slept last night, so I’ve got plenty of energy,” John purred between kisses, starting up Sherlock’s jaw and nibbling lightly on his earlobe. Sherlock moaned softly, and turned the rest of the way to catch John’s lips. 

John stopped for a moment, savoring the feeling of Sherlock’s plush lips pressed against his. Drawn out closed-mouthed kisses followed, until Sherlock traced his tongue against John’s bottom lip. John opened up, and felt the warm wetness of Sherlock’s tongue against his own. Sherlock always tasted so sweet, and John deepened the kiss, unable to get enough. 

They rotated slightly until John’s torso was pressed against Sherlock’s, his fingers caressing Sherlock’s sides. John broke the kiss, leaving Sherlock whimpering as he began to press open-mouthed kisses down his chest, stopping only to tongue each nipple to a peak. Their breath quickening, Sherlock writhed beneath John’s touch as the pressure in his abdomen built. John kept kissing his way down, down, until just before reaching the spot between Sherlock’s hipbones, he stopped and grinned up at his desperate lover.

“Oh please John,” Sherlock half whimpered, half begged, straining at the lack of contact. “Now is not the time to keep a man waiting.”

“I will make you wait,” John breathed between kisses, sliding back up to meet Sherlock’s face, “however long I want to.”

John dived back down, sucking and biting softly at Sherlock’s collar bone. He kissed softly at the dark bruises he made, relishing the appearance of the aubergine mark against Sherlock’s ashen skin. Sherlock’s head was tipped back, and the long expanse of his throat called out to John. He licked all the way up from the base of his throat to the tip of Sherlock’s chin, savoring the vibrations under his tongue from Sherlock’s drawn out moan.

“God, you taste so good,” John whispered, returning again to toy with Sherlock’s earlobe as his hand slipped lower down Sherlock’s abdomen. His fingers ghosted over Sherlock’s pulsating erection, leaving him to thrust into nothing as his fingers moved down to stroke Sherlock’s thigh, teasing him mercilessly.

“Oh John, please!” Sherlock begged, grasping at the duvet as the pressure became almost painful. John chuckled.

“Do you want me to touch you?” John rasped, voice low and seductive as his lips just barely tickled Sherlock’s ear. He continued to stroke Sherlock’s thigh, edging closer to his balls every time. “Do you want me to take you and make you scream?”

Sherlock nodded, whimpering and nearly crying with anticipation as he felt John’s fingers barely touching him. Suddenly he felt John’s hand wrap around his member, and a guttural moan escaped his throat. He began breathing harder as John’s hand began to pump up and down, alternating occasionally between stroking the underside and thumbing the head. Precome oozed out, and John leaned down, tongue lapping up the moisture. 

Sherlock moaned again, and John wrapped his lips around Sherlock, causing him to gasp. Slowly, John moved down, taking all of Sherlock in. Pulling back, he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard, resulting in Sherlock seizing John’s hair and tugging. The slight pain heightened John’s arousal, and he groaned around Sherlock who bucked up slightly in reply. He could sense the coil in Sherlock wound nearly to its bursting point, and he backed away, Sherlock’s length sliding out of John’s mouth with a satisfying pop. Sherlock lifted his head and glared at John, who smiled deviously in return.

“Oh you are a tease,” Sherlock growled, duvet still wound tightly in his hands and his cock positively dripping. Still grinning, John slid off the side of the bed and pulled Sherlock’s legs around so that he was kneeling between the younger man’s mile long legs.

Navy blue eyes gazed up hungrily at Sherlock as John began sucking and biting on the taller man’s muscular thighs. Lifting Sherlock’s legs so his feet were placed on the bed, John felt him shiver with anticipation. Breathing in Sherlock’s musky scent and humming with pleasure, John began tracing his tongue around Sherlock’s puckered hole. Sherlock groaned and pressed forward into John, aching for more, but he grabbed Sherlock’s thighs to still him. Once the ring of muscles had relaxed more, John pushed his tongue into Sherlock with agonizing slowness. The entire descent in, Sherlock let out a long, rumbling moan that went straight to John’s cock. He swirled his tongue around inside Sherlock until he felt him grab haphazardly at his hair.

“John, p-please…” Sherlock whimpered, barely able to contain himself. Knowing Sherlock was too close and not able to last much longer, John retracted his tongue.

“Shhh, alright love, hold on,” John purred as stood to grab the lube from his bedside table. Kneeling once more, John coated his fingers with lube and gently smothered Sherlock’s entrance. Slowly, he pushed two fingers in, pulling in and out slightly and scissoring them to open Sherlock up. Hooking his fingers he found Sherlock’s prostate, resulting in Sherlock rising almost completely off the bed and releasing a shrill squeal. 

Once John felt that Sherlock was stretched enough to accommodate him, John pulled out his fingers and slathered the remaining lube on his painfully hardened erection. Positioning himself in front of Sherlock, John looked up to see Sherlock’s piercing kaleidoscope eyes staring back at him eagerly. Sherlock nodded, and John pressed in, both of them gasping at the new sensation. 

Once John was buried to his shaft in Sherlock, he began to gingerly thrust in and out of Sherlock. They quickly found each other’s rhythm, and their bodies moved in sync with each other, skin smacking against skin in the dance of pleasure.

“So t-tight,” John growled, digging his fingernails into the flawless porcelain skin of Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock moaned loudly, and John felt as if he were about to burst.

“Look at me,” he commanded, aching to see Sherlock’s face as he relinquished all control to his body as he climaxed. Almost immediately after they locked eyes, Sherlock burst open, hollering John’s name like the most holy prayer. Seeing and hearing his man like that, John climaxed inside Sherlock as his muscles contracted around John’s cock. With one final thrust John released the last rope, and he collapsed on top of Sherlock in pure ecstasy. 

After giving himself a moment to recuperate, John pulled out and crawled up onto the bed next to Sherlock. He peppered light kisses on Sherlock’s closed eyelids and lips softened by spit and sweat, breathing in his post coital scent.

“I’ll get the flannel and clean you up, love,” John said, beginning to rise from the bed. Sherlock grasped his forearm and pulled him back down.

“Stay. Get it later,” Sherlock grumbled, voice thick with sleep. John chuckled and laid back down, pulling the covers down as Sherlock curled up at the top of the bed. John pressed his body against Sherlock’s, bare flesh warm against his own. Sherlock sighed, and they both drifted to sleep in each other’s arms. 

What a lovely morning.


End file.
